


America takes England to Cheesecake Factory and Ruins Everything

by fefetasprite



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-14
Updated: 2013-06-14
Packaged: 2017-12-14 23:59:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/842933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fefetasprite/pseuds/fefetasprite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Functional grown men going on a perfectly nice and normal date. England's POV</p>
            </blockquote>





	America takes England to Cheesecake Factory and Ruins Everything

**Author's Note:**

> written for junkoesfungoes on tumblr she was my 300th follower and asked for some fluffy usuk  
> inspiration drawn from my friend date with emily at cheesecake factory

He said he was taking me on a dinner date. Since it was Alfred, in retrospect I really shouldn’t have been expecting much. But for some reason, I was anticipating a lot more. I’d even worn a nice shirt, fresh from being ironed, a nice tie, nice pants, nice shoes! Nice everything down to my undergarments!

No, Alfred pulled up to my house in his pickup truck with the bust-in bumper, wearing a T-shirt with a pug on it, jeans and these ridiculous round Gucci sunglasses, windows rolled down and blasting Nicki Minaj.

I should have just gone back inside.

He leaned over the open window and pulled his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose so that he could blatantly look me over and frown uncomfortably while he did that. “You’re dressed a little fancy for Cheesecake Factory,” Alfred noted.

I growled a little inside, but tried my best to be patient with him. A weak fake-grin formed on my face. “How was I supposed to know that we were going to Cheesecake Factory? And not, say, somewhere nice?”

“Cheesecake Factory is somewhere nice.” Alfred frowned, almost as if he were personally hurt by the accusation.

I scoffed and rolled my eyes. “Cheesecake Factory, then, will have to do. Just get us there safely in that deathwagon of yours and that’ll be a miracle in itself.” With some hesitation, I joined him in the car and took the passenger seat, already gripping the door handle anxiously before he even pulled the car out of park.

“Relax, dude, it’s just a date,” Alfred assured (though it wasn’t entirely assuring, since it wasn’t the date at all I was tense about. It was the fact that he backed out of my driveway at fifty miles per hour in a rattling pickup truck he’d clearly done damage to.) He took his hand off the wheel to clap me on the shoulder, and the truck wavered from its straight path. I was starting to feel nauseous already.

[BREAK]

When we finally arrived at the damn restaurant, I could practically feel the hair falling off my scalp from all the trauma he induced. I wouldn’t bring it up, though. A nice dinner date was all I was after, and I was sure that we could accomplish that much. In retrospect, I shouldn’t have expected that either.

He at least came around to the passenger door to open it for me, which was sort of courteous even though I could have managed it myself. But if he’s willing to be an obedient little puppy I’m not one to complain, especially since Alfred looked as if he was so desperate for approval in that moment. I snorted. Maybe he finally took notice of the atmosphere.

I followed Alfred into the crowded restaurant, and we wrestled our way to the hostess. “The Batman, party of two,” he introduced. Oh God, spare me now. Morbidly embarrassed, I hid my face in his shoulder.

“Right this way, er… Mr. Wayne.” The hostess smirked to herself and started through the restaurant, our menus in hand. Alfred turned to me, the most excited look on his face. I smacked him lightly on the cheek.

She seated us and left the menus on our table and informed us that a server would come soon with water and bread, and that we should look over the menu at this, this and that. I sighed and skimmed through the selection for something worthwhile. Alfred studiously examined it as if it were a vital decision. To him, it probably was. The man lives to eat, rather than the other way around.

“Alfred, how has it been going with-“ I tried to start idle conversation with him about his brother, but he actually reached across the table to shoosh me. He put his bloody index finger on my lips and shooshed me so that he could read the menu.

Alfred F. Jones is the most infuriating person to be around, but I do my best to be patient. And I’m a very patient person. But even I have a limit, and I was not going to let him shoosh me on our already fucked-up date. I took him by the wrist and moved his hand out of the way. “Alfred, I’m sure you’ve been here a thousand times. I’m sure you have the menu memorized. I’m sure that this decision is not going to impact the rest of your life. I’m sure you’d rather have conversation with me.”

Alfred looked up, that usual expression of oblivious stupidity there on his face. “Huh? Artie if you wanted to talk, you shoulda said something.”

“I just. Did.” I hissed through my teeth, drumming my fingers on the menu.

“You’re so funny!” Alfred laughed suddenly, loud enough that quite a few people turned around. I quickly averted my glance away from them. “Like, so tightly wound! Come on man, you need some fatty food to make you feel better.”

If by fatty food he meant the greasy calorie monsters he can usually be caught consuming, I wanted none of that. I have too much class for that. “Ah, no thanks. I’d feel better eating lighter. Trying to… watch my heart health.”

Alfred burst out laughing again. “That’s right! That’s because you’re old!” He laughed to himself for a few minutes while I glared from across the table, arms crossed.  
“I’m not old, Alfred. Countries don’t age past our prime,” I informed him tartly. “I’m just more seasoned and prefer a healthy diet!”

It was then that our server returned, smiling pleasantly, to ask what we’d like for dinner. I requested some flatbread with water to drink while Alfred mulled over the menu a little longer.

“Uhh yeah. I’d like the bacon cheeseburger, and the fried macaroni, and does the burger come with French fries?” It did. “Yeah that and a chocolate milk. Thanks!”

Our server quirked an eyebrow at the request, but wrote it on her pad of paper and promised that it would be out soon, and in the meantime she’d get us some bread.

I didn’t want to start anything, but I felt it was necessary to comment. “You’re going to get a heart attack one of these days if you keep eating those things.” I fussed with the silverware and stared down at my napkin while speaking.

Alfred seemed completely unfazed. “Ha! We’re countries, Artie, remember? It’s OK. I’m 300 years old and still in my prime!” he insisted.

“You’ll have to think a lot more into the future,” I scoffed, thinking of China. He was aging, yes, but for a few thousand years old, he was in pretty good shape, and his recent economic boom seemed to be doing great things for his previous back pain. “You’re not invincible, you know,” I muttered as an afterthought.

Alfred tilted his head, as if he thought he heard something but wasn’t sure, and furrowed his brows. “You worry too much!” he finally called out a minute later.

I awkwardly drummed my fingers on the table, knowing that I shouldn’t have brought it up. It always ends up the same way, with me unnecessarily flustered and Alfred completely ignorant of my advice.

Our server returned with the promised basket of bread, and to avoid further conversation I quickly took a piece of pumpernickel, sliced and buttered it, and stuffed it in my mouth. I probably looked ridiculous, as if I hadn’t eaten in a week or something. But really I just wanted to end an uncomfortable situation.

I glanced at Alfred and noticed that he grabbed a piece of white bread, predictably, and was slicing the bread in his hand.

“Alfred, you might not want to do that, you might cut-“

“Ow! OW!! Ow!” Alfred dropped the bread and the knife and flapped his wrist, near-hyperventilating.

“Did you cut yourself? Let me see your hand.” I rolled my eyes internally, knowing this would happen. Reluctantly, Alfred produced his wounded hand… which had a papercut-sized nick on one finger. I shot him an ‘Are you kidding me’ look, but he was too busy whining to even notice it. “Calm down. You’ll be fine.” I took my napkin and dabbed the tiny cut.

“It stings! It stings!” he blubbered.

“Shut the hell up, this is the smallest cut. How do you deal with all of the wars you’ve put yourself through?” I clicked my tongue and gave him an ice cube from my water to wash and numb the little cut. “You will be fine,” I reiterated.

Alfred sniveled for a little while longer while I pulled a bandaid out of my jacket pocket. “Here. Put this on your cut.”

“You have bandaids… with you?” Alfred questioned, taking the packet and clumsily opening it up.

“You never stopped being a big baby that always needs my help,” I scoffed in return. He faked an offended look, though the corners of his mouth were pulled into a smile. “Such a dork,” I taunted.

“Your dork!” he returned, grinning stupidly.

[BREAK]

“Your meals, sirs.” The server, chipper as always, dropped off our dishes and promised a drink refill for the both of us.

Alfred stared down at his food in awe, as if prideful of a baby son or daughter. He then took out his phone to snap a picture, and eagerly tapped the thing in some sequence.  
“What are you doing?” I asked him.

Of course, he avoided the question with another for me. “What’s a good filter for food? Sutro? Yes, very HD. Hashtag burger.”

“Are you instagramming your food?” I quirked an eyebrow.

“Yeah. Don’t mean to brag but… 300 followers.” He brushed nonexistent dust from his shirt.

“Wow. That’s something,” I deadpanned.

Alfred shrugged it off and nonchalantly began to eat his burger. I looked down at my flatbread, contemplating it.

It’s moments like these when I question a lot of things about my existence.

“Are you gonna eat your food?” Alfred asked. I could have sworn I’d only stared at my food for a minute, but half of his burger was gone and about a third of his macaroni.  
“Umm… yes,” I spoke slowly, dumbfounded by the speed at which he ate. “Just. Didn’t know where to start.” I laughed nervously.

“Can start… right here!” Alfred nabbed an end piece and stuffed it in his mouth. “Haha…” he laughed, some of the flatbread’s adornments falling out of his mouth. “This is some lame food, Artie.”

I sighed, and took the next piece in and glancing protectively between the rest of my flatbread and Alfred. “Just stick to the things you ordered. Or I might put my silverware to use maiming you.”

Alfred thought it was the most hilarious joke, and so broke out in boisterous laughter. I pinched the bridge of my nose between my eyes, trying to relieve the perpetual headache that was dating Alfred F. Jones.  
[BREAK]  
When the bill came, Alfred at least took the gentleman’s role and paid for the both of us. He was courteous as we left, holding the door for me while I held the cheesecake slices we would take to my house to eat later, and then opening and closing the car door for me. He asked me what radio station I wanted, and actually listened when I told him to watch the road. It wasn’t a headache all the time, I realized. Alfred was ridiculous, but if that was really so bad I would have left him a long time ago.

He walked me to the doorstep, but when I stepped inside, he didn’t follow. Just stood in the frame of the door. “Can I come in?” he asked, looking like a puppy left in the rain.

“Of course you can, Alfred. What do you think we bought the cheesecake for? To take our separate ways? No, we’re going to eat them and watch a movie or something, but neither of us will pay attention to it because-“ I cut myself off though he could probably guess the rest.

Alfred grinned a stupid grin. “Dork.”

I rolled my eyes dramatically. “Your dork.”


End file.
